DIESEL DADDY

by Naomi West

  “The rest of these dudes can party and fuck all day if they want,” I said. “But us bosses don’t get that luxury. You and I gotta meet with Dakin.”

  “Oh, shit,” said Cruiser, slapping himself on the forehead. “I forgot that was today.”

  I swear, sometimes running this crew felt like keeping a kid’s clubhouse in line. Sometimes I wondered what would happen to the Warhawks if I decided to fuck off with all my money someday and just get fat in my new mansion. I loved these guys down to the last man, but they wouldn’t know what the fuck to do with themselves. I’d made Cruiser VP for a reason, but I found myself wishing he’d get his act together and step up to the plate. I wasn’t gonna be around forever, and I’d need someone trustworthy to step into my shoes if I decided to retire. Or if I happened to catch a stray bullet.

  “Get a fuckin’ day planner—I can’t have you missing this shit.”

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said, draining the last of his beer.

  He turned to the rest of the crew.

  “All right, you motherfuckers! Boss and I are gonna go take care of some shit. Keep this party going ‘till we get back!”

  The crew roared in agreement. Cruiser gave his girl one last ass squeeze before we were out.

  Checking my watch as we headed to our bikes, I saw that we were making good time. Dakin was a smart motherfucker and pretty reliable. But he had a temper as wild as his mind was sharp and had a real stick up his ass for punctuality. The Warhawks were too powerful for him to do anything too crazy if I rolled up late, but I didn’t feel like seeing him flip out.

  Cruiser and I hit the road, and about a half hour later we were at the designated meeting place, which was some abandoned warehouse in the middle of nowhere between Orlando and Gainesville. Dakin some other boys in his crew were there waiting for us. A van nearby held the merchandise and I was in a buying mood. The Warhawks had been making money hand over fist doing these gun-running operations for Dakin, and I was ready to make some more hard cash.

  “There’s the man of the fuckin’ hour,” said Dakin, his hair wild around a pair of eyes that were locked onto me from the moment I rode up.

  “What’s new, my man?” I asked, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake.

  His grip was firm—maybe too firm. I wondered if something was up. Was he sore about me buying Star out from under him?

  “How’s that piece of yours?” he asked.

  “Good, man,” I said. “Expensive as shit, but good.”

  “Can’t put a price on premium pussy like that,” he said, his tone hard-edged.

  “I sure as shit can; my account’s a half-mil lighter.”

  “You know, I really had my eye on that bitch,” said Dakin.

  “Sorry, my man,” I said. “Maybe I’ll let you take a crack at her some time.”

  Imagining letting Dakin fuck a girl of mine was enough to make my stomach a little queasy. But I needed to say something to calm his ass down; he seemed a little more peeved than I was anticipating. A moment hung in the air, and I wondered if Dakin was going to have one of his trademark flip-outs. He was ice-cold ninety-nine percent of the time, and a murderous wild man the other one percent. I hadn’t seen him go nuts in person, but I’d heard some pretty gnarly stories.

  “Fuckin’ funny seeing that chick again,” said Dakin.

  “What?”

  I had no idea what he meant by that, and my tone reflected it.

  “You know that house I bought? The one I got on the cheap? It was her fuckin’ place.”

  “No shit?” I said.

  What a goddamn coincidence.

  “Yep. I was about ready to claim her with the rest of the shit in that place, but she got out right from under my nose.”

  “Small world,” I said, not sure of what to do with this new information; did this mean that Dakin thought she was already his or something?

  The air was tense, and I wondered if Dakin really wasn’t going to let this go. He stared at me hard, and I looked at him right back. I got the sense he was trying to see if I was gonna back down. Not a chance of that. We held eyes for another long series of minutes, and right at the moment I was sure he was gonna pull out his piece and light me up, he broke out into wild laughter.

  “That’s right!” he said, a big smile on his face. “Small fuckin’ world.”

  He turned towards the van, now ready to show off the goods.

  “Have fun with that one,” he said, putting his hands on the door handles. “She looks like the type you can get trained real nice. Have her workin’ your pole at the snap of your fingers.”

  To make his point, he snapped his fingers in the air, the sound a sharp pop. He seemed to have moved on, but I got the sense that this particular subject wasn’t put to bed just yet.

  “Got some good, good shit for you, my man.”

  He pulled the doors open, revealing a van packed full of all kinds of guns. Cruiser whistled as he looked the merchandise over.

  “Hot damn!” he shouted, slapping his hands on his thighs. “Enough guns here to take over the goddamn state!”

  I stepped to his side. He wasn’t lying—there were a shitload of guns there. Assault rifles, handguns, explosives—you name it, it was there. All unregistered. Probably a couple mil worth of weapons, and all goods that could be easily sold throughout the state.

  “Same deal as before?” I asked.

  “Yup,” said Dakin. “You buy ’em from me and do with ’em whatever the fuck you want.”

  I stepped into the van and picked up one of the assault rifles. It was good stuff—military hardware that Dakin had probably gotten from some ex-Soviet bloc countries. I had no idea how he’d managed to get this shit into the country, but I was glad for it. And it was a good racket: once he got it in, his job was done. I’d just buy the goods and get my boys to distribute it. The arms merchants overseas got paid, Dakin got paid, and my boys and I got paid—money all around.

  I was already adding up how much money I’d make from this cache; it’d likely be more than enough to sock away and ensure that I’d have a real comfy retirement to look forward to whenever I decided to get out of the game. And with my properties all sorted out, I could filter the cash through them.

  “Done,” I said.

  “But not yet,” said Dakin.

  “Huh?” I asked.

  This was strange—before, Dakin had been all too eager to get the goods off his hands.

  “I still haven’t figured out just how much I’m gonna charge you. Still thinkin’ that one over.”

  “Then why’d you have me come all the way out here? Just to say ‘hi’?”

  A little smirk formed on Dakin’s lips.

  “Just wanted to, you know, gauge your interest. Don’t worry—once I get this shit all appraised by my guy I’ll have you right on the line.”

  I didn’t like this shit one bit. Dakin should’ve had this all sorted out beforehand. Something was up.

  “‘Till then,” said Dakin, turning and heading back to his bike.

  He snapped his fingers in the air and the rest of his crew hopped on their rides and peeled out. Less than a minute later, all that remained of Dakin and his crew was the dust that the bikes and the van had kicked up into the air.

  “I got a bad feeling about this,” said Cruiser, swatting the dust away.

  I didn’t say so, but the feeling was more than mutual.

  Chapter Eight

  Star

  I screamed a little when I woke up. I couldn’t help it; as soon as my eyes opened and I saw that I was in some strange bedroom in some even stranger man’s home, fear gripped me. I looked around, seeing that I was alone. Once I realized that I wasn’t in any danger, I allowed myself to calm. Slowly, my heartrate slowed, and as I took in deep breath after deep breath, I took stock of my situation.

  So, I thought, looking around, I’m in the extremely fancy home of some biker dude. He paid a half million for me, and I now belong to him.

  The words
felt strange, even as I thought them.

  At least I’m not sleeping in some cheap motel, I thought, noting that the bed I was in was extremely comfortable.

  I rolled out of bed and walked to the windows. Pulling back the curtains, bright light streaming into the room, I looked out as far as I could. Sure enough, there wasn’t another house in sight. The road from the house disappeared off into the distance, and thick Everglades woods surrounded the rest of the property. I half expected the windows to have bars on them, but if the house was as isolated as Tank had said it was, there was really no need for them. Walking out into the Everglades was an easy way to get chewed up by a gator, and God knew how long it’d take to get out of here just walking down the road.

  I reached up, my fingers wrapping around the collar that Tank had put on me. Part of me wanted to undo the thing and toss it into the corner, sending a clear message to Tank just what I thought of his “ownership” of me. But another part, a part that was unfamiliar to me, the part that enjoyed the little show I’d put on him, said something different. This odd part of me wanted me to keep it on, to not fight, to just settle into my new role as Tank’s property.

  I shook my head, dismissing the voice. I decided to leave the collar on—after all, I did have a place to stay for now, and though the circumstances were less than ideal, this was a mansion where every need I had would be taken care of. For now, it’d do. I looked at a nearby clock and saw that it was a little after ten.

  The bedroom had an attached bathroom, and upon entering it I saw that it was just as luxurious as the rest of the place. The floors were cool marble, and gold ornamentation adorned the walls. And best of all, there was a massive tub right in the center of the room. Looking around, I realized that this bathroom was probably about a fifth of the size of the house where I’d lived.

  I knew that I should’ve been plotting my escape, but a bath sounded so damn nice. And after last night, I figured that I was in need of some relaxation. So I turned on the faucet and let the tub fill up with hot, steaming water. Once it was full, I slid into the water, the tension flowing from my muscles with each passing second. A large mirror covered one of the walls of the bathroom, and out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my reflection, noting that I still had the collar on.

  Now I really need to take it off, I thought, reaching up to grab it.

  But again, I stopped. I held it tight, feeling the smooth leather against my fingers. I wanted to leave it on, but I realized that getting the collar soaked with water probably wasn’t the best idea. I took it off quickly, dunking my head under the water as fast as possible. Once I was back up, I washed my hair, dried my neck, and put the collar back on as soon as I could. I was again surprised at my own behavior; it was like I felt guilty for having the thing off.

  After a time, I got out of the tub and dried off using the unbelievably soft towels that were in the bathroom. Once I stepped into the bedroom, however, I realized that I didn’t have a thing to wear. The teddy from last night was draped over the back of a nearby chair, but I really didn’t want to put that on again.

  Laying my eyes on the nearby dresser set, I approached it and opened one of the top drawers. Sure enough, it was filled with neatly-folded shirts. The one below was jeans, and the one below that was underwear. I sifted through them and found that nearly all of them were my size.

  Man must have a type, I thought, pulling out a matching pair of lacy, light blue underwear. After I put them on, I took out a purple T-shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans. The clothes were skintight, and as I stepped in front of the mirror, I couldn’t help but notice that the collar already seemed like an important part of my wardrobe, like I’d been wearing it for years.

  It just seemed … natural.

  I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon lounging around the house trying to keep myself busy. Tank hadn’t given me any instructions on what to do while he was gone, other than not to get any big ideas about escaping. And it wasn’t as though he’d left a note telling me when he’d be back.

  As I made lunch, I noticed something sitting on the kitchen bar counter—a small black object sitting on top of a piece of paper. I’d only had coffee for breakfast, so it had been able to slip by unnoticed when I’d been in here earlier. Approaching the thing, I saw that it was a burner cell phone. On the paper was a four-digit passcode and a small note that read in surprisingly neat handwriting: “This is for me to keep tabs on you. When I text, you respond within ten minutes. And don’t bother trying to make outside calls. If you’re a good girl, I may give you access to more phone privileges. But only if you’re good.”

  Damn, I thought. He really wants to mess around with the “property” thing. I picked up the cell, which was an early-model iPhone. I’d never actually owned a smartphone—Grandma had never been big on technology, let alone social media—so it was all pretty fancy to me. I played around with it for a few minutes, learning out to use it. Sure enough, any feature that would’ve allowed me to contact the outside world was disabled. I looked through the contact list and saw that there was only one number: Tank’s. After I’d satisfied my curiosity, I slipped the phone into my back pocket and went back to work on my lunch.

  A half hour or so later, I finished my lunch of a sandwich and some chips, pushing away the plate when I was done. I couldn’t believe how fast I’d wolfed down the food. Though it wasn’t really surprising; when I thought about the last meal I’d eaten I realized I hadn’t had anything since my oh-so-fateful meal at the diner yesterday, the meal that I’d gotten for free but which had ended up costing me any trace of my old life.

  I put the plate in the sink, and just before I could begin to think of what I was going to do next, the phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw that there was a text. It was from Tank.

  Be back at six. Be ready for me. Find something from the walk-in.

  T

  “Be ready for me?” What did that mean? I checked my watch and saw that I had several hours until he was due to be back. Realizing that being “ready for him” could only mean one thing, I headed back up to my bedroom and looked around. Sure enough, there was a door that I hadn’t noticed.

  I opened it up, revealing a massive walk-in closet that was nearly as big as the bedroom. The walls were lined with clothes, and in the middle was a massive and well-lit five-panel mirror. I stepped in front of it, looking at my slender body from all of the angles it allowed. I wasn’t entirely sure what “be ready for me” meant, but I was sure that my jeans and T-shirt didn’t qualify.

  He’d told me to find something in there, so I walked over to the clothes hanging from the many racks. Flipping through them, I gasped when I realized what they were. They were almost exclusively skimpy and scanty lingerie, ranging from teddies to matching bra-and-panty sets to corsets to full-on leather bondage gear. I sifted through them, trying to find something that was both sexy and something I wouldn’t feel totally ridiculous in. Eventually, I settled on a black lace boy-short set, figuring it was a decent compromise. Plus, it matched the collar.

  I spent the next couple of hours putting on makeup and getting my hair just right. The bathroom contained more beauty products than I’d be able to go through in a year, even if I slathered them all on every morning. I worked intensely, making sure that I looked as good as I possibly could. Only when I was nearly finished did I realize that the task I’d been focused on for so long was making myself into a proper fucktoy for Tank. What was wrong with me?

  Once I put the finishing touches on my makeup, I decided that I was going to give more thought to escape. Wearing nothing but my underwear, I stepped to the window and looked out over the front lawn. The road would be my best bet. Maybe I could slowly gather some supplies over the next week or so, hiding them in my room. Then, when the time was right, I could make a break for it, following the road but keeping far enough away from it that I would be spotted by Tank or any other guys in his gang. It wasn’t the best plan, but it was the only one I could
think of. Sure, even if it did work I’d be right where I was before, broke and homeless, but I could figure out the odds and ends later.

  For now, I just had to get free.

  More time passed, and just as I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup I heard the growl of a motorcycle pulling up. I rushed over to my phone and saw that it was nearly six.

  Damn, I thought, pretty punctual for an outlaw biker.

  I hurried downstairs, not wanting to be in the middle of getting ready when he walked in. I scolded myself for being so concerned about matters like that, but I couldn’t help it—part of me was really concerned with pleasing Tank. It ran against all notions of independence that I had, but I couldn’t help it.

  Not sure of where to go, I went back into the lounge where our “activities” had taken place last night. I futzed around with the lights, making sure that they were a low, sensual dim, and got a bottle of champagne ready. I knew that he’d said he didn’t really care for bubbles, but champagne sounded sexier to me than sitting there with a glass of whiskey. Plus, I needed something to calm the anxiety that was slashing in my stomach. I got into position on the couch, wine flute in hand, just about when I heard the front door open.